


crazy on you

by questionsthemselves



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: F/M, ovipositors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 20:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13864995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionsthemselves/pseuds/questionsthemselves
Summary: Aleta and Stakar and ovipositors





	crazy on you

**Author's Note:**

> don't read if you don't like. this is an edited reposted version of a fic i had up before

Stakar gives that helmsman another thirty seconds of taking Aleta’s fury before he either breaks or soils himself. Not that he doesn’t deserve it, for nearly running them into another ship. Honestly, Stakar’s impressed the man hasn’t crumbled faster. For someone whose head is only visible over the back of the captain’s chair when she wears her hair scooped back in a messy topknot, there isn’t a man, woman or other gendered being on the bridge who can go toe-to-toe with his… lover? Co-captain with benefits?

If Stakar had his way, that sentence would finish with ‘wife’ but Aleta had made it explicitly clear the first time they’d tumbled into bed that she wasn’t looking to be tied down. And Stakar respects that, he does, but he can’t help but hope, deep down, that someday….

The thump of the blanching helmsman on the bridge floor snaps Stakar out of his daydreams. Aleta stares down, every furious inch of her, arms crossed and nearly vibrating. When the helmsman stays in his sad, berated little puddle, she turns sharply on her heel and makes for the door.

“Aleta, Aleta wait,” Stakar shoves the holopad at a baffled-looking Charlie, then strides out the door after her. This isn’t like Aleta. She’s never one to suffer fools, but she’s been like this all day – pulled back tighter than a slingshot, stalking around like an Altaaran tiger, snapping and spitting in the face of anyone unfortunate enough to get in her way.

Maybe something happened, with that last scouting job she went on. Nothing in the debrief had hinted at anything out of the ordinary, but it was either that or it might be–

Stakar swallows, hands flexing as he tries to catch up to the ball of fire and fury ahead of him. Maybe she’s had enough of being on the _Starhawk_. She’s always talked about having her own ship, captaining her own crew under the Ogordian flames instead of sharing the title with Stakar.

Someday she will, it’s inevitable, but he hadn’t thought it could come so soon. If she would just be close, just a little more time, a few more years… but whatever’s making her this unhappy, Stakar can’t let it be. If letting her leave is what she needs, that’s what she’ll get.

He’s followed nearly to the captain’s cabins, but Aleta doesn’t stop. Stakar pauses, baffled. Where the hell is she going? There’s nothing further down the corridor but excess storage and the gyms.

Oh. The gyms. Of course. Probably wants to work off whatever tension she’s got built up, at least all of it she didn’t get out raking the incompetent helmsman over the coals.

Stakar watches her disappear through the door, lengthens his strides. He’s built up enough speed that when he turns into the doorway, he nearly collides with her back.

 

“‘Leta?” Stakar catches himself, pushes down the urge to reach up and squeeze comfortingly at her shoulders, pull her close.

“Didn’t have to follow me,” Aleta doesn’t sound any calmer, away from the bridge. Her voice is low, tight and raspy, and something about it does things to Stakar. It’s the same tone she gets when–

No. This is about Aleta right now.

“Wanted to see if you needed anything,” Aleta still hasn’t turned around. Stakar shifts from foot to foot. “Seems like you’ve got something on your mind.”

Aleta barks out a laugh, then turns to face him and fuck. Her eyes are sparking and shining like black fire, wild and dark.

“Got something on my mind, alright,” she says.

Stakar knew it. He was right.

“Do you wanna… talk about it?” he asks hesitantly. Words have never been his strong suit, listening neither, but for her he will always try.

“Pft, talk about it,” Aleta makes a rude noise, rolls her eyes. Stakar flushes. It had been worth a try. But before he can try again Aleta slinks closer, right up against him, grabs a handful of his scarf and pulls his face closer to hers.

“You wanna know what I want?”

Stakar gulps, nods as much as he can with his scarf in her grip.

“Wanna fight,” there’s something almost manic in Aleta’s face, as she stares up at him. “Wanna fight me, flyboy?”

 

She ties her hair up in a loose sloppy bun, weaving one of her little orloni-sticker of a knives into it as a finishing touch. Stakar stops unbuckling his jacket to stare at the bunch of her muscles as she moves. 

Damn, but she’s stunning.

Then she starts stripping.

“‘Leta, what are you…?” Stakar blinks as she pulls her undershirt over her head, leaving only her workout bra.

“What, you think i’m gonna wrestle you in a full set of leathers?” Aleta snorts, and shimmies her over pants down her hips to expose the leggings underneath. Her tattoos almost seem to move as she does, the colors shimmering in the low light. She turns to kick her heap of clothes into the far corner, looks back over her shoulder

“Oh, and flyboy?”

Stakar tilts his head in question.

“Stead of standing there gawking, lock the door.”

She bares her teeth at him in something a little too predatory to be a grin, and lengthens down into a stretch. Stakar inhales, waves the biolock shut, then mechanically sheds his overcoat and his boots.

_Lock the door._

His pulse is pounding in his throat, and the way she’s looking at him makes him feel like all the air’s being sucked from the room.

“Not gonna strip to your undershorts too?” Aleta flows gracefully to her feet, prowls closer and plucks at the waist of them.

“I…” Stakar’s blushing, he just knows it.

“Wait,” she says. “You don’t have anything on under there, do you.”

It isn’t a question. Aleta’s eyes are dark, and her hand claws into his the hem of his trousers, jerking him closer.

“’S more comfortable,” Stakar whispers, and stripped down like this he can see her, see the half-hard bulge of her ovi. He flushes hard, heat flowing down his torso, blushing him dark. The feel of her hands on his naked skin, the way she’s looking at him… there’s something _much_ more fun they could be doing to work off tension. Stakar reaches out to cup the small of her back, inches his hands daringly down to her ass. 

But Aleta’s lips curl in a wicked smirk and she lets go of his belt to slide her hands up to his chest. She gives his pecs an appreciative grope, then pushes him back.

“Fight me, flyboy” she crooks a finger at him, adjusts her stance. “Wanna see you beg for mercy.”

And he could. He could get into a normal grappling stance, try and take her down methodical like.

Or…

Stakar breathes deep, lifts his chin, and smirks in silent taunt. “Then _make_ me.”

There’s a breathless pause, stretching long as saphur gum between them. Aleta’s eyes narrow like a hawk, her hands slowly curling into fists.

“Oh, darling,” she purrs, dark and rough in the back of her throat, “gonna make you _scream_ it.”

 

Stakar’s strong, always has been. But while he’d been blazing through the simulators on Arcturus for every ship he could get an upload for, Aleta had training like this. She’s wicked fast, insanely flexible, bending and eeling her way out of every pin Stakar tries to put her in. 

Stakar knows the basics of hand-to-hand, but every moment her whip-wire muscles flex against him, every little rumble and snarl she makes, every time she bares her teeth in his face he forgets a little more of it. 

He tries to roll on top of her, pin her with sheer size but somehow she flips onto his back. Before he can react her hands are on his arms, locking his joints painfully immobile.

“Got’cha,” Aleta breathes triumphant and hot on his ear.

He squirms, but she’s right. She’s got him well and truly pinned and stars- _dammit_ , she’s hard. Her ovi presses against him through the thin stretch of her underwear, hot against the small of his back.

“You’re mine, flyboy,” Aleta’s hips judder against him arrhythmic, almost like she doesn’t even know she’s doing it, and her thighs squeeze down on his waist. It shoots dizzying up his spine, spins his head light, and Stakar sags limp into her grip. He needs her now, needs her _bad_ , like he never knew he could.

“That’s it, gonna submit?” Aleta husks, nips hard at the shell of his ear.

Something deep inside him still roils at that, but his pulse pounds in his throat, and he needs to touch her.

“Yes, ‘Leta, I yield,” Stakar ekes out a desperate. turns his head and bares his neck. “‘Leta, _please_.”

“Good boy,” she growls, and Stakar shudders, sweet, dark shame twisting in his stomach. She knows that does things to him, exploits the knowledge ruthlessly, mouths it wicked into his skin. “So good, so strong, gonna get you twitching and squirming sweet on my ovi an’ stuff your belly slow, you want that? Stuff you full of my clutch.”

Stakar starts to moan out an blind agreement but–

Wait. Her clutch? He tenses, confused, but then it snaps into place in his brain and oh, oh, oh, he knows what’s happening. He knows what this is. She had told him after all, when they were laying fucked out and sprawled over each other that very first time, about the need her species got a couple times a year. How’d the pressure would build, sharp and snapping and fierce, until she could hunt someone down, pin them under her, fill them up with her lay.

It’s been months since that conversation, but he still doesn’t know how he’d missed it, missed all the signs she’d told him about. And that too means none of this is because she wants to leave him, none of this is because she feels trapped. It’s because she wants him, wants him enough to do this with him.

“Fuck, ‘Leta,” Stakar relaxes again, arches his hips up as much as he’s able, but stops unsure when she growls, doesn’t move. She’s strung tight as a bowstring, every inch of her pulled taunt, and he realizes – she’s waiting on him. She’s waiting on him to tell her this is okay, to tell her that she can.

Goddamn, he loves this woman like burning.

“Please,” he forces out through the hoarseness in his throat.“Please ‘Leta, do it.”

Aleta’s next growl is triumphant, and fuck it’s so hot when she does that. She slowly releases him, palming down his hips and around to work open his belt. Stakar starts to worm his hands down to help her but she snaps her teeth an inch from his ear and he freezes, goes limp and lets her do as she pleases.

As soon as his belt is free, she shoves his pants down his hips, gets her arms underneath him and hikes him up.

“Wait, we need–” damnit, where the fuck were they going to get slick, and Stakar wants to sob in frustration. Aleta’s elbow jams painfully into his shoulder blades as she shifts, and then there’s the unmistakable click of a cap.

“You have…?” Stakar says blankly, and Aleta rubs her nose against his neck.

“Had it in my bra,” she rasps, “Been waiting all day t’fuck you, belly down and begging for it.”

Stakar whimpers, claws at the sheets. Yes, that, he wants that now.

She doesn’t waste any time, working him open, and then she’s lining up and pushing in. Her arms hook under his shoulder, wrap over the top of them to hold him to her. 

Every time, it’s like she’s peeled him open and pinned him there. It’s addictive, heady, the rush of her making a place for herself inside him.

When she fucked herself as deep as she can go, she rasps, “Ready?”

Stakar nods against the bed, muscles tight and trembling. Something’s happening with her ovi, something that hasn’t happened before. The base of it is swelling in him, like a plug, like it’s securing them together. It’s big, bigger than anything he’s had inside him, and he shifts, whines uncertainly.

“Gonna be so good to you, and you’re gonna take it all,” Aleta’s hips aren’t moving against him now, but something’s moving inside him. Stakar’s mouth falls open and his eyes squeeze shut, and he can feel it, her first egg, working down her ovi. Every inch of it, slowly spreading him wide, prying him open , and he can’t, he can’t, it’s too much. 

He keens, turns his head to mouth desperately at her arm. Aleta just purrs, and gently fits her teeth over the side of his throat in silent possession.

Every inch of it, slowly spreading him wide, prying him open , and he can’t, he can’t, it’s too much. Then it’s out, fucked deep inside his body, shifting every time he clenches.

“That’s it,” Aleta croons, “Made for this weren’t you, knew it the first time I had you, knew you’d be perfect getting your belly fucked full of my eggs.”

The second one’s coming and Stakar writhes, sobbing and clawing at the mat. Barely a breath behind it is the third, and he’s already full, so fucking full, how is he gonna be able to handle more? His lust drunk brain tries to remember what Aleta said, about how many there might be, but then she ruts her hips forward. It jostles the eggs inside him, grinds hard into his sweet spot and he white-knuckles the floor, wails into it.

His head is nothing but static and need, and there’s nothing else in the world, nothing but Aleta’s teeth on his throat and her ovi inside him.

“Two more, you can take it,” Aleta rakes her nails soothingly down his skin, works a hand under him so she can massage at his stomach.

“Just let me fill you darling, lay there so good and take it for me,” she hooks his body tighter to her and squeezes. The fourth egg is slower, the way it eases down, the throb of it along her ovi lighting every nerve bright and oversensitive.

“Ahh, almost there,” Aleta sounds almost drunk, and then the last egg is coming, he’s too full, it’s not gonna fit, it’s not gonna _fit,_ he’s gonna break apart. But Aleta just keeps teething at his neck, massaging at his belly and whispering hot into his ear and then it’s in. Her knot’s gone down enough Aleta can angle her ovi just so, and she grinds into his sweet spot, grinds against the the over-fullness of the eggs she’s put inside him. 

It’s enough to shove him over and he’s coming in long, low pulses that feel like they’re ripping him apart. He’s untouched and he didn’t even know he could do that, and spots careen in front of his eyes as he shakes and shakes and shakes.

When the fog starts to clear, Aleta’s ovi is still throbbing gently inside him. She’s rumbling low, a sound that’s almost like a purr as she snugs herself tight against her, twines their legs together.

“Stars, ‘Leta, that was…” Stakar’s pleasantly fuck-drunk brain can’t quite seem to find the word he’s looking for, so he squeezes clumsily at her arm instead.

“Mmm,” Aleta sounds like nothing so much as a smugly contented cat that got the cream. “Mine.”

Stakar’s pulse trips and he pulls her arm tighter around him.

“Yours,” he says. He sucks dreamily at his lip, adds softer, “Didn’t understand, at first. Thought maybe you were getting ready to leave me.”

Aleta’s rumble stops.

“Leave you?” She sounds thrown, words still choppy as she starts coming back to herself.

Stakar shrugs as much as he can cradled in the curve of her arms.

“Thought maybe you were itching for your own ship, your own crew.”

“What,” Aleta says blankly. “I got wound up for one day, and you thought I was ready to take off for my own ship?” There’s a beat, and then Aleta slaps him in the chest.

“Idiotic drama prince.”

Stakar mumbles something incomprehensible into the covers. It had made sense at the time, after all, no reason to call him names.

“Honestly,” and really, it shouldn’t be possible for her to fill her voice with even more long-suffering. “Only you would be so ridiculous. Also if I want to leave, I’ll just fucking leave. Idiot.”

She punctuates that with a bump of her forehead against Stakar’s nape, and then she yawns.

“Sleep now,” she says. Stakar’s still just on the uncomfortable side of full, her eggs still nestled inside him, but his body might as well been run over with a hover car. It’s quiet, only the sound of Aleta’s low contented purr and the softer humming echo of the ship beneath it. Aleta’s still tucked behind him, clinging to him like a particularly possessive space barnacle, and maybe it won’t hurt if they rest just for a little while.


End file.
